


Post Match Praise

by fridaysangel



Series: Lovers Not Rivals [2]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2019-10-21 21:59:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17650664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fridaysangel/pseuds/fridaysangel
Summary: Marcus and Trent's messages following their games.





	1. Chapter 1

**_That was a good goal._ **

Marcus stared down at the message for a long two minutes, eyes narrowed in suspicion, trying to think of a retort that wasn’t  _why are you complimenting me instead of making a joke about how we'll never win the league anyway so it was a waste of a goal? Do you actually think it was a good goal? Did the watch the whole game? How did I play? Were you proud?_

That would probably start a fight. Or he'd simply be told to fuck off and that he'd never get complimented again if that was how he'd react. It definitely wouldn't impress him. Nothing ever impressed him though, so he was pretty sure nothing he could come up with while sat in the loud away team changing rooms at the King Power Stadium could. Did the goal even impress him? The message was probably just him trying to be nice after their fight yesterday. Maybe he was even taking the piss. It was a _good_ goal. Not a great one. And a full stop? His last goal got him three (drunkenly sent) exclamation marks and a smiley face emoji that he’d stared at for an hour before Jesse had knocked the phone out of his hand and demanded his attention with an annoyed huff, because  _he's not even here and you're paying more attention to him than me Beans_. Maybe he was trying to mess with him. Good goal, but you’re still not gonna beat us. You still won’t break fourth. That seemed more likely. Maybe he was being nice because he was going to end it. 

Maybe Marcus was thinking too much about what was probably just a nice message.

Maybe he could ask Jesse for advice. Though last time he’d asked Jesse for advice about this sort of thing Jesse had told him he wouldn’t help him seduce the enemy and that he should be paying attention to Jesse more than a stupid scouser anyway. He’d then stolen his phone and sent three hundred love hearts that Marcus spent the next hour denying responsibility for. He still hadn’t lived that down, so he pushed that idea out of his head immediately.

Before he had the chance to reply, another message came through, one which made his stomach loosen a little. 

_**Need to work on your celebration though. Bit shit weren’t it.** _

Marcus snorted a laugh before he could help himself, quickly glancing around the changing room to make sure no one was paying him any attention as he felt his cheeks heat up. The boys had been teasing him constantly since he returned from the World Cup, where this whole thing had started, about him smiling and blushing at his phone and coming into training with  _bite_ marks on him. About him coming in late, or spending too much time on the phone talking quiet in stairwells and tables on his own. Only Jesse knew who it was he was talking to, cause Jesse knew everything about him. He couldn't hide anything from Jesse. He got teased about that too. 

After staring at his phone for another long few minutes, he settled for a simple response, a simple  **Thanks, see you soon babe x.**

Trent responded with a winky face and an eggplant emoji before Marcus could even blink. 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trent comes back from injury.

The atmosphere was euphoric. You’d have thought it was the final game of the league and not a 3pm Saturday game the way the crowd were going, switching between songs every minute and never once quieting down. Trent couldn’t think of a better game to make his return to.

The dressing room post-match was no different. He walked in with a smile, flinching slightly when he felt a big hand smack the back of his neck, turning to see Virgil grinning at him, “Great to have you back, man!”

“Course it is, see how we’re winning again now, told you didn’t I,” he joked, laughing and dodging Virgil’s fist easily. 

“Don’t get too cocky yeah, you didn’t play as brilliant as normal.”

“Oh so you think I’m brilliant normally?” Trent wasn’t quick enough to dodge Virgil’s fist that time and grunted at the impact, rubbing his arm with a cheeky grin still firmly in place. “Telling Joe you said that.” 

He hugged a few more of his teammates, laughed and smiled so much his face hurt before sitting down and looking around the dressing room, feeling his unease over the past few games leave him completely. They’d played great, amazingly even and they were all dancing and singing from the joy of it. He knew Klopp and the fans were happy with them, and that meant the world. 

He pulled out his phone and ignored the messages from his brother and Marcus to find Joe’s name, chucking at their last message of Joe telling him to stop cheating at fifa or he’d never play him again, and quickly typed a message.   
  
 ** _Virg said he thinks im a brilliant player. gonna replace you as his favourite._**

Joe’s response was immediate. 

_yeah but he still thinks you’re whiny as fuck so im not too worried._

Trent rolled his eyes, sending a glare Virgil’s way before opening the message from Marcus. 

**Good to see you back out there! You were amazing!!**

He smiled softly, biting his lip and shifting a little lower in his seat, leaning back to make sure none of the boys could see his phone.   
  
 ** _Felt amazing to be back out! You watch alone?_**

**With Dane and Ty. They had a bet going on if you’d score.**

**_Who lost?_ **

**Dane, he thought you’d score!! Your own brother don’t believe in you babe, he’s a snake**

**_Did you think i would score?_ **

**Of course <3 **

Trent rolled his eyes at that, he could just imagine the dumb look on Marcus’ face as he typed that. Marcus was always telling him he could do this trick and score that goal in his games, as if he wasn’t aware of what his own to feet were capable of. It was sweet, if a little unnecessary. He had a whole squad and manager for that. 

The boys started chanting and singing and he put his phone down to join in, jumping around the dressing room with them and joining in their shouts when Klopp came in and joined them. They went through three rounds of Bobby’s, Sadio’s, Mo’s and Gini’s songs before they started to get tired. 

When he finally picked up his phone twenty minutes later Marcus had sent 4 more messages. 

**That wasn’t sarcastic. I really did!**

**Trent**

****Im serious !!! i always think you’re gonna score** **

**Babe??**

Trent huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he sent a quick reply.

**_I know you soft twat. see you soon, order some food x_ **

He didn’t bother waiting for Marcus’ inevitable reply of a heart emoji or smile emoji (he blamed Jesse for those) before putting his phone down to go and get ready. He had a boyfriend and some food to get home to. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lionsandred.tumblr.com


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A disappointing end at Old Trafford.

If he had to think back, Marcus could probably pinpoint the moment he’d become so stupid.

It had been three weeks into training at St George’s for the World Cup last summer, he’s started to get a lot more confident around the lads. He bantered with them, played Fifa and Uno and made stupid bets during training about nutmegs and goals. The only one he hadn’t really bonded with was Trent. He wasn’t surprised by that, by nature they were bitter rivals. Both the young homegrown stars of their teams, and Trent seemed shy and reserved in a way that Marcus thought was almost standoffish. As though Trent thought he was better than them. He didn’t care for him. Which wouldn’t have been a problem if Jesse didn’t care  _so_  much.

Jesse had made it his personal mission to become friends with Trent. Apparently, Jesse was under the impression that Trent was a really nice guy who was just a little shy and needed to be taken under their wing. So Trent started spending more and more time with them, he was suddenly the third wheel on their already functioning bike and he was snarky and quick and made Jesse laugh more than Marcus did and was faster and could cross a ball better. Marcus thought it was bullshit. They didn’t need Trent as part of their group, and he didn’t  _want_ Trent as part of his group. Then, the team night out happened.

They’d somehow managed to convince Gareth that a night out would do them some good (he was pretty sure Kane or Eric had convinced him as he didn’t think anyone else had the power). It was a great night and Marcus found himself getting caught up in the high of being called up for his first World Cup with all his new friends and got spectacularly drunk. So drunk that he was throwing up by 1am. It was more embarrassing then he’d ever admit, mainly because no one knew except Trent, who had happened to walk into the bathroom of the club just has Marcus began throwing up in the tiny sink, because that really was just his luck.

He’d been predictably smug about it and made a few jokes about Marcus secretly being 13, but then he’d actually helped him. He sneaked Marcus out without anyone else seeing his red eyes or the vomit stain on his shirt and got them both into a taxi back to the training grounds. He’d very kindly let Marcus stay in his room - he said it was so that Jesse wouldn’t come back and find him in his room all drunk and embarrassing - but Marcus suspected it was so he could keep an eye on him. And right there, at 2am in St George’s Park with the weight of the country on their shoulders and the smell of sick on his shirt, Marcus spent two hours listening to Trent talk and stared at the way his mouth moved when he did and became so stupid that he decided to kiss his new teammate. With the taste of sick still in his throat.

He didn’t think that would lead to the stupidity of what he was doing now though. Didn’t think it would lead to him pacing the door outside the Away Team changing rooms after a horrifying draw with Liverpool on their own ground. He was raging. He was so pissed off, he wanted to walk in there and fight every single one of them. Not because they drew. Not because he was injured. No, because of Trent.

Stupid, sweet, snarky, asshole Trent. Trent who’d spent the whole game glaring at him from the bench. Trent who had gotten off the bench at the end and greeted his manager and all his teammates except him, then walked off the pitch laughing as if it didn’t fucking matter. As if Marcus wasn’t injured and didn’t need him. 

He worked himself up for two more seconds before storming into the changing room, hands clenched at his sides and jaw clenched so tight it hurt. “Where’s Trent?” He asked, glancing around the room.

It was almost empty, there were bottles and cups and napkins and a stray sock lying around but only two team members. Joe and Van Dijk were sat on the benches, Van Dijk tying up the laces of his trainers and Joe sat next to him wrapped in a puffer jacket despite the warm weather. He raised an eyebrow at Joe questioningly, half wondering why he’d made the journey down when he didn’t leave the dressing room and half re-asking his question.

“He’s already on the coach. What you doing?” Joe asked with a frown. “What d’you want with him?”

“I just wanna talk to him.”

“You look like you wanna do more than talk to him. Don’t do something stupid, Rash, games done now,” Joe said calmly, though he was now glaring at Marcus as he stood up.

“I’m not - no, I just wanna talk to him,” Marcus insisted. 

“He’s already gone,” Van Dijk said in that deep, commanding tone of his, standing up and pulling on his jacket. “You should head back to your room, yeah? I’m sure your coach wants to talk to you.”

Marcus turned his glare on the taller man, “What’s that meant to mean?”

“Easy,” Joe said immediately, taking a step towards Marcus with his hands up, “What’s gotten into you? Just text Trent later or something. Go on, head back mate. It’s not worth it, you’ll say something you’ll regret if you talk to him like this.”

Marcus turned to blink at Joe. He knew about them. He probably should have guessed that, he knew he and Trent were close. He didn’t know why that made him angrier, but it did and he ignored Joe to turn around and storm out of the room and straight to the parking bay at the back.

This was stupid. He knew it was probably the dumbest thing he could do right now, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself from walking straight over to the big fucking red coach and stepping onto it like he owned the thing.

23 heads swivelled to look at him, half of them doing double takes when they saw it was him and not Joe or Van Dijk.

Marcus stared back, his throat suddenly gone dry. Fuck, why had he done this. There was no normal way to explain why he’d just stormed the rival teams coach to talk to a player.

“Marcus? What you doing, you alright lad?” Henderson said from a seat at the front next to Adam, frowning at him curiously.

Marcus saw a head pop up near the back of the coach and looked over to see Trent had stood up, phone and headphones in his hand, and was frowning at him in confusion and alarm, a clear  _what the fuck are you doing_ , written across his face.

“Can I talk to you?” He asked. “Right now.”

“What are you doing?” Trent asked, voice tight with annoyance, glancing around at his teammates pointedly. 

“I need to talk to you.”

“No, get off the coach. You’re being stupid.”

 _I know,_  Marcus wanted to shout. He wanted to shout a lot of things but mostly he wanted Trent to get off the fucking coach.

“Trent,” he snapped. “Just come and talk to us for a second.”

Trent glared at him the whole time he walked down the coach, pausing when he got to Marcus, “Go on then, get off,” He huffed.

Marcus glared back before turning and getting back off the coach. As soon as he was off, he turned to face Trent and was met with a hard shove to the shoulder. “What the fuck are you doing? You can’t just storm onto me coach, all me teammates are there, my fucking manager!”

“Yeah well maybe if you weren’t such a fucking dick I wouldn’t have to!” Marcus snapped back, shoving Trent’s shoulder roughly. 

Trents eyes widened as he stumbled back with the shove, “The fuck are you on about, I haven’t done anything!”

“That’s the point!” Marcus shouted, losing the remaining patience he had. “You watched the game, we were barely hanging on, I got injured straight away you didn’t even come and see if I was okay! Jess said you messaged him at half time, you were on the pitch you didn’t even look at me! I was fucking injured, you could show even a tiny bit of empathy you know, we might be rivals but you're still supposed to care!”

Trent was staring back at him with fire in his eyes, and Marcus knew this was only about to get worse. He took a step back, thinking  _this was so stupid, this was so stupid_. 

“Fuck you,” Trent snapped quietly, tone more controlled than Marcus had been expecting. “You wanted to keep this quiet-"

"Don't bring that up now, that's not what this fights about!" Marcus snapped.

"Yes it is, I can't go and hug you on the pitch why the fuck would I do that?"

"We're teammates!"

“I’m not going to hug you on the pitch, because I can’t hug you like a teammate you dumb shit!” Trent snapped. “And if you checked your fucking phone you would see that I messaged you too.  _Before_  I messaged Jess. You’re so fuc-"

“Trent.” 

They both froze, Trent straightening up and glancing back at where Klopp was stepping out of the coach with a calm expression, coming to stand next to Trent and wrapping an arm around his shoulders protectively. Marcus felt his face flush with embarrassment. God he was so stupid and here was Klopp just looking at him with warm, understanding eyes, and there was Trent looking at Marcus like he wanted to kill him as he leaned into Klopp's side.

“I think it’s time we head home, yes? There are many ears here, many people,” he said, glancing around pointedly at the security posted around before meeting Marcus’ eyes. “You played very well, I hope you are not too hurt,” he said sincerely, giving him a warm smile before squeezing Trent’s arm and turning him towards the coach. 

Trent gave Marcus one last glare before walking onto the coach, Klopp following him on after giving Marcus a warm clap on the shoulder. 

Marcus stared at the empty space in front of him, feeling the anger build up again now that Klopp’s calming presence was gone. Honestly, fuck Trent and fuck Liverpool. He didn't get it. Didn't get how Trent could be so cold and distant sometimes as if they weren't together, as if they hadn't spent three hours last night wrapped around each other in Marcus' room. He stormed back into Old Trafford just as Joe and Van Dijk were walking out, but he ignored both of them, walking towards his own changing rooms. He’d feel bad about ignoring Joe later, but right now he couldn’t care less. 

As soon as he got into his changing room, he rifled through his bag to grab his phone, dropping down to the bench as soon as he saw the messages on his screen. Shit. 

**_Trent:_ **

**_You’re limping a lot, you okay? Hendo hurt you?_ **

**_I wish I was out there too, probably a good thing we’re not out there together though. mainly cause i’d destroy you, obviously_ **

**_You doing okay? Let me know when you’re home and I’ll head over? I can bring ice and sweets._ **

**_Or a curry, whatever. Just let me know._ **

**_Shit game, but hope you’re okay xx_ **

Just as Marcus was attempting to think of a message he could send, another one came through from Trent. 

**_Ignore the above. Fuck you._ **

Marcus sighed heavily, hitting the back of his head against the wall a few times. Yeah, he’d definitely dropped a few brain cells since falling for a scouser. 

He took a long shower and spent some time in the injury room visiting basically half his teammates, ending his rounds at Jesse’s bed. 

“Beans, you’re doing a proper shit job of cheering me up, what’s wrong with you?” Jesse huffed, poking him in the arm repeatedly. “What’s wrong? You jealous your boyfriend messaged me? Don’t worry, I’m not into the lad.”

Marcus didn’t even have the energy to argue with him, he just leaned forward and dropped his head onto the bed. “Got mad at Trent and stormed onto the coach to make him talk to me. Argued with him in front of Klopp,” he mumbled against the scratchy bed sheets.

There was a long moment of silence before Jesse pushed Marcus’ head up. “Can’t have heard you right Beans, did you just say you  _went onto his coach_? While the team were there?”

“And Klopp.”

“Fucking hell, are you stupid?”

“Apparently,” Marcus sighed, dropping his head again with a groan. 

“And now he’s mad at you?”

“Fuming.” 

Jesse put a hand on Marcus’ head, scratching at his hair lightly, “It’s alright Beans. He’ll come around. Just go and apologise. Get him a curry. Suck his dick or something.”

Marcus raised his head to glare at Jesse, who grinned back. 

“Does he not like that? You bad at it?”

“Shut up,” Marcus snapped, pushing Jesse’s hand off his head. “Think it will be better or worse if I got to his house?”

“Worse,” Jesse said immediately. “His parents will be there. Go home. Let him have the night, and try again tomorrow.”

Marcus knew Jesse was right, but he was burning inside. He hated arguing with people, but especially with Trent or Jesse. He wouldn’t be able to sleep all night knowing that Trent was mad at him. “You’re right,” he said to Jesse, though he had absolutely no intention of listening to him. 

He said a quick goodbye, promised to come and see Jesse before training tomorrow and left.

 

The drive to Liverpool was long and he found out from Ty that Trent was already home, so he headed straight there. Luckily for him, it was Ty that answered the door with an eyeroll. 

“He’s been ranting for an hour, the fuck did you do?” He asked, stepping aside to let him in. 

“Is he upstairs?” Marcus asked, not wanting to be told off for the third time that day.

“Yeah in his room,” Ty confirmed, signalling for Marcus to go up. 

Marcus kicked off his shoes, cause he knew the rules and he was a polite guest, before heading up to Trent’s room.

He knocked once before pushing the door open to find Trent sat on the floor of his room in front of the TV, watching the Chelsea and City game and fiddling with his football boots. He didn’t even glance up when Marcus walked in, so Ty must have warned him. 

Marcus stared at him for a few uncomfortable seconds before growing annoyed, “You not gonna say anything?”

Trent shrugged, eyes not moving from his boots,“You seemed to have a lot to say before, wasn’t sure you were finished.” 

“Well, I wasn’t and then I read your messages and-”

“Felt like a prick?”

Marcus made a face at that but nodded, “Alright, yeah. So can we move on?”

Trent finally raised his head, “How come when I piss you off you’re pissed off for days but I only get one hour?”

“It’s been two hours, there was loads of traffic.”

Trent blinked. “Get out my house.” 

Marcus sighed heavily and sat down next to Trent instead, reaching for the remote and turning the telly off. “Please. I already made a fool of meself in front of your whole team. And Ole’s pissed that I’m not in the injury room right now.”

“Well that was your fault, that was probably that stupidest thing you’ve ever done.”

“Agreed,” he said immediately, pulling the boots out of Trent’s hands. 

“You still haven’t apologised for shouting at me.” 

“Well, I don’t think I was wrong.”

“You were stupid.”

“ _Yeah_. Wasn’t wrong though,” Marcus shrugged. “You could have at least shook me hand. Looked at me or something.” 

“You wanted to keep this-”

“I know,” Marcus interrupted sharply. He didn't want to have _that_ argument again. Not right now. “But they think we’re friends. You being worried about me wouldn’t be weird.”

Trent rolled his eyes but didn’t argue as he moved his hand to Marcus’ leg, squeezing his thigh gently and making Marcus let out a breath of relief. "Is it bad?”

Marcus shrugged, “Probably didn’t help the situation by staying on.”

“He should have taken you off, it was stupid of him to keep you on,” Trent said, eyes narrowing in annoyance. 

“I told him to.”

“Well you’re stupid too,” Trent said, as if Trent himself hadn’t played a 90 minute game with an injury only a few weeks ago. 

“Yeah,” Marcus agreed simply because it was easier, and because Trent was gently massaging his leg and he wasn’t about to make that stop. He leaned closer, brushing his forehead against Trent’s. “We good?”

Trent smiled softly, almost reluctantly, “Yeah. We’re good. But you do that in front of my teammates again I’m leaving you. You know how many questions I had to endure on the way home?” 

Marcus groaned, “Still can’t believe I did that. Don’t know what I was thinking. Klopp must have thought I was crazy. Think Joe was ready to fight me.”

“Yeah, he’s not happy with you,” Trent laughed, hand coming up to grip the back of Marcus’s neck, pulling him even closer and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “But who cares?”

“Right now? Not me,” Marcus shrugged, wrapping an arm around Trent’s middle and pulling him onto his lap. “But I should make it up to you. Blowjob or a curry?”

Trent frowned, "You mean after all that I can't have both?"

Marcus rolled his eyes at him, pushing him off his lap as Trent burst into laughter. They definitely had things to discuss, but right now blowjobs and curry would definitely take precedence. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lionsandreds.tumblr.com


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A not so great day for Trent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know some of you wanted a chapter showing how they get together but that will probably be the next one. After today's game, this was needed. Enjoy!

**You okay?**

Trent stared at the message on his phone, the bright red lock screen behind it looking like it was taunting him at the moment.

**come on, just let me know your alright.**

**you’re***

**babe? x**

He’d not said much the past thirty minutes, and now that they were back at Melwood for a debrief, he was pretty sure his mood was about to get worse. He wasn’t much in the mood to talk about anything, let along the game. It had been awful. 

He left the pitch feeling like they’d been running up a steep hill and someone had pushed them all over in the 70th minute. The others didn’t seem as disappointed as him, their attitudes disheartened but strong, they were all saying encouraging words to each other and making jokes to lighten the mood. One of the Brazilians had put on some music and they all generally seemed to be alright. 

Trent couldn’t seem to shake the disappointment he was feeling though, could feel it clawing at him from the inside. He managed to escape the coaches for a second, slipping past a few staff members to go to the training room where he knew Joe would be. He found his friend sat by the weights, phone in his hand. He looked up from scrolling when Trent walked in and gave him a sad smile, “You alright?” 

Trent didn’t respond, dropping down onto the bench next to Joe with a loud groan. Joe always had the calming presence he needed. He was always unfazed, whether he was making a goal line clearance in the 90th minute or training alone for the 5th week. It was what he needed right now, when his head was swirling and he felt like his chest was getting heavier with each breath. 

“You played alright,” Joe began. “Lost a few balls, but pretty good.”

“Not good enough.”

“They’re a good team.”

Trent lifted his head to glare at him, “Fuck off.”

“Come on, you know they are. Even if they weren’t, they want it as bad as we do. Strange things happen at Derby days.” Joe reasoned.

“Yeah, like the wind.” 

Joe snorted, shaking his head, “Can’t believe he said that. Guess he couldn’t think of anything else to say other than, ‘we were a bit shit’.” 

Trent smiled fondly, “Yeah he’d never say that, I guess. Still. The wind?”

Joe laughed loudly, standing up and pulling Trent up with him, “There is a storm coming.”

“I think that’s just City blowing past us,” Trent muttered under his breath, flinching when Joe smacked him round the head. “Virg got man of the match.”

“I saw,” Joe smiled, leading them out to the meeting room. “At least he’s not gonna be moody all night.” 

“Don’t speak too soon, still gotta talk to Klopp,” Trent reminded him, ignoring his phone buzzing in his pocket. “Though not much he can say to him.”

“Not much he’s gonna say to you,” Joe reassured him, wrapping an arm around him as they walked. “Hey it could be worse. At least you got to play.”

Trent wasn’t sure he wanted the pressure any more, if he was honest with himself, but he didn’t dare say that out loud. 

-

They left Melwood thirty minutes later, the debrief had settled even heavier on his chest, and he felt like someone had dropped a stadium onto it. He drove home with a lump in the back of his throat, jaw clenched so tight he was giving himself a headache. 

He didn’t even pause in the living room to greet his family, stalking straight up the stairs. They’d understand, he knew that. When he got to his room, he wished he’d given himself a little more time to compose himself when he found a 5ft11 Manc stretched out on his bed. 

Marcus jumped up as soon as the door opened, eyes wide and hesitant, taking one step towards Trent before taking two back. “Hey.”

“How d’you get in?” He asked, dropping his bag by the door and closing it behind himself, locking it for good measure. 

“Your mum. Are you alright?”

“Yeah fine!” Trent said immediately, smiling at him brightly as he walked over to his desk to plug his phone into the charger. Marcus had called him 5 times while he had been driving. 

“Trent.”

“What? We drawed, not great but at least we didn’t lose to the scum,” he shrugged, “Why? You come to gloat?”

Marcus frowned at him, “Of course not, what d’you take me for?”

Trent shrugged, “Well you care more about beating us than City so I’m sure you’re chuffed.” 

“You’re an idiot, can’t talk to you when you’re like this,” Marcus sighed, shaking his head.

“Then go home.”

“No. Stop being a stubborn prick and admit you’re upset.”

“I’m not upset.”

“City are ahead of you now.”

“There’s nine games to go.”

“You had a lot of chances. You lost the ball a lot.”  
  
“Fuck you,” Trent snapped, taking a step closer, feeling his anger grow in defence for his team. “We tried. Not gonna take advice from someone who had their worst start to a premier league ever only a few months ago.”

Marcus didn’t even blink, didn’t even look bothered by Trent’s comment. “Still. You had a chance to go to the top.”

“At least we had a chance.”

“And you lost it.”

“This isn’t funny, Marcus, stop.”

“Admit you’re upset.”

“I’m not upset!” Trent shouted. 

Marcus raised an eyebrow at him and Trent wanted so badly to punch him right across his stupid face. 

“Shut up.” He snapped, “Fine, fine I’m pissed off. Happy? We should have won. We should have fucking won that, we should be top of the league we fucking deserve it, we tried so hard and our fucking fans are going to be heartbroken and it’s not fucking fair. We try so hard and stupid fucking cit-”

Trent suddenly became aware of Marcus shushing him, and he realised just how loud his voice had gotten when Marcus stepped closer to wrap his arms around him tightly, silencing him. Trent’s face was pressed against Marcus’ chest and he fought it for only a second before relaxing against him and squeezing his eyes shut, arms by his side. 

Marcus held him tightly, rubbing a hand soothingly over his back, the other hand scratching his nails lightly over his hair. “I’ll do my best to score against them,” he said, a joking, hopeful, tilt to his voice.

Trent huffed a quiet laugh, “Thanks.” 

“It’ll be alright. You never know, De Bruyne’s just been injured,” Marcus insisted, starting to pull back. Trent quickly wrapped his arms around him, not letting him leave just yet.

“Wait,” he said quietly. 

Marcus smiled smugly as he wrapped his arms back around Trent, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. “It’ll be alright, babe,” he murmured. 

Trent couldn’t bring himself to be embarrassed right now, he needed this. He knew they had to be positive and that there were still nine games left, but a big part of him was hurt and disappointed and he just needed some comfort. Marcus would definitely tease him for it tomorrow, and he’d have to make sure he swore him to secrecy or he’d get Jesse teasing him too. It was hard to care about that though, when Marcus was encouraging him to get undressed and gently leading him into bed, shuffling in next to him and wrapping his arms around him tightly. It was hard to care about the pressure of the title race when Marcus’ skin was pressed against his and he was whispering words of reassurance against the back of his neck. 

"You really think we have a chance still?" Trent whispered into the dark, eyes trying to make out the shapes of his room as Marcus intertwined their fingers against Trent's chest. 

"You're really making me say this to my rival team?"

Trent smiled, pulling their hands to his lips. "Yes."

Marcus huffed a laugh, the hot breath against his neck making Trent shiver. "Yes, babe. You've still got a chance. With you on the team? No danger." 

Trent closed his eyes tightly, "Okay. You can stay tonight then," he murmured. Marcus only huffed a laugh in response, squeeze Trent's hand tightly and filling him with warmth. 

Tomorrow, he could be anxious and determined and ready for the fight again. Tonight, he could have this. 

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An awkward first date + How Jesse found out.

Since returning from the World Cup and their long summer break, Marcus had seen Trent maybe three times. Each of those times, at least two other people had been with them and they’d barely spoken and had gotten by with just awkward heated glances across the room. 

That didn’t stop them texting constantly. Literally always. It was a little scary just how easily Trent fit into his life and now he couldn’t go ten minutes without checking in with him. Jesse and the rest of the team were starting to get suspicious and kept asking him what girl he was texting and what she looked like and what her name was and Marcus had to stop himself cringing each time. 

It was infuriating, especially considering the fact that they only actually lived 40 minutes away from each other, and it should have been easier to see each other. Every time Trent drove to Marcus’ house, Jesse turned up right before, or if Marcus mentioned he was going to Trent’s, his brother would immediately tag along since he was friends with Trent’s brother. There was no legitimate reason that Marcus could give to his friends or brother for them to not tag along, so they did. Technically he was still seeing Trent, but it was strictly as friends and that just didn’t sit right with Marcus when they would text and talk like two people in a relationship.

It made him nervous, he wasn’t sure how their  _relationship_  (could he call it that yet when they'd not had a date?) would progress if they didn’t even see each other before the season got more and more intense. Their late night phone calls were even becoming less frequent with how tired they both were and Marcus wasn’t sure if he was over-reacting or not. Trent hadn’t brought up meeting up in about two weeks, and they were two games into the season and Trent’s team were (much to Marcus’ anger) prospering and his team were falling and stumbling and he was panicking about too many things. 

He finally broke after their third loss of the season, feeling exhausted and tired and like he really really needed the comfort of another person. Mourinho spent forty minutes shouting at them after the match and the moment he was done, Marcus pulled his phone out to text Trent.

**_Can u come round for dinner tonight?_ **

**You okay?**

**_Yh. Can u come or not?_ **

**Can we go out? Meet in the middle? Got training early.**

Marcus hesitated for a long moment. It wouldn’t be too weird, they could have dinner without people reading into it and thinking they were dating or secretly up to something. But the thought that they  _might_  still made him uncomfortable. 

**_It’s not that long a drive._ **

Trent didn’t respond and he figured that was as much of an answer as he needed, so he messaged him again, ignoring the nerves. It was fine. It was  _fine._  It would be fine. 

**_Okay sure._ **

Trent replied immediately with a restaurant link.  **Great, 8pm.**

**-**

Trent turned up at exactly 8pm, because he was always on time and Marcus was always late, so when he turned up he followed Trent’s directions to a small corner table in the back, “Alright?” he greeted, sitting down opposite Trent with a tired smile and glancing around. There were a few tables sat close to them and the waitress stared at them a little as she handed them two menus.

Trent smiled back, “You alright?” He greeted, putting his phone down on the table once the waitress walked away. “Shit game,” he said apologetically. “You okay?” 

Marcus just shook his head with a sigh, “It’s fine,” he said, not wanting to really talk about the game any more. He just wanted to forget about it and get out of his head. 

“Never been here before,” he said, glancing around and fiddling with the menu in his hand. Trent only hummed in response, eyes on the menu and Marcus stared at him, trying for a long time to think of something to say. He felt like his hands were too big for his body and his legs were too big under the table, kept knocking against Trent’s every time he shifted and he kept flinching and trying to keep some space. It was weird, over the phone they never shut up. It felt like he couldn’t run out of things to say, and now he felt nothing but uncertainty. Maybe it was just residual nerves from the game, maybe he could feel too many eyes on them. 

Trent glanced up with a frown when Marcus’ knee knocked against his for the fifth time. “What you doing?”

“What?”

“You’re acting like a nervous puppy. You look like Jess when no one pays him attention for five minutes.”

Marcus snorted in amusement at that, making an effort to be more comfortable. “I’m not trying to be, I just-”

“Seriously, stop shifting,” Trent said, and Marcus wondered how the hell he was so relaxed.

“I feel weird.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know!” Marcus huffed. “We haven’t been alone since the world cup.” He said quietly so no one overheard. “It just - I don’t know. Feels weird. Like. I don’t know what to do with myself. This is our first date. Don’t know how to act.”

“Just act normal.”

“But this isn’t normal. When we were alone at the World Cup we were fucking every two minutes”- Marcus whispered and absolutely did not blush when he said that out loud, no matter how much Trent was smirking - “Now we’re sat in a restaurant together as if that’s something we always do, making conversation and shit.” 

“We do have dinner a lot,” Trent said with a shrug, “There’s usually other people there but so what?” 

“Well it's different innit."

"Well yeah but, still. We've not had a date but we've sucked each other's dicks, Marcus, think you can relax," Trent said without looking up from the menu and Marcus glared at him. 

"What if people think it’s weird? What if we touch too much and someone-”

“Ah.” 

Trent’s tone made Marcus stop short and he frowned, “What?”

He was looking at Marcus as if he suddenly understood something, nodding shortly as he straightened in his seat and leaned back slightly. “Nothing.”

His tone was short and Marcus made a concentrated effort to not roll his eyes as the waitress walked over and asked for their order. “Don’t say nothing,” he hissed as soon as the waitress was gone. “What did you mean?”

Trent clenched his jaw, “You don’t feel awkward cause it's our first date. You feel awkward cause it’s in public and you’re worried someone will find out.”

Marcus stared at Trent, waiting for him to continue and frowning when he didn’t, “Yeah?”

“What d’you mean yeah?” Trent huffed, “Like that’s okay?”

“Why would I want people to know?” Marcus asked in confusion. 

“What’s the problem Rash, the fact that it’s me or that I’m a guy?” Trent asked, his voice harsh and biting and Marcus leaned back in surprise.

“Obviously it’s not that it’s you,” he said in disbelief, “You’re happy for everyone to know you’re seeing a guy? A rival?”

Trent’s glare deepened, “I’m not saying lets tell the world, you idiot, but we could at least tell our friends. Then we could actually spend time together alone without anyone asking questions.” 

“Well, yeah but-”

“But what? If they’re your friends they’re not going to have a problem with it.”

Marcus hesitated, shifting in his seat. He knew that. He did. But there was a small part of him that thought  _what if._  What if they weren’t okay with it? What if his family wasn’t? What if Jesse didn’t want to be his best friend any more? What would he do? 

Trent’s face softened at Marcus’ silence and he felt Trent’s foot reach out to touch his under the table. “...I get it.” He rolled his eyes at Marcus’ scoff. “I do. The only person I’ve told so far is my brothers and I was shit scared. I’m not gonna force you, that would be really shit of me. I just want you to know that it will be okay. They love you they’re not gonna abandon you over something like this,” he murmured.

Marcus could feel his heart hammering against his chest and he felt warm inside. He really hoped Trent was right. He hadn’t expected it but Trent meant a lot to him and he didn’t  _want_  to hide him, or lose him. “You’re right,” he murmured.

“I know,” Trent said immediately, hand reaching over quickly to squeeze Marcus’ before leaning back again when the waitress brought their food over. 

They ate in silence for a few moments, Trent’s leg still pressed against Marcus’ and he felt warm at the contact. “How much would it take to convince you to come back to mine tonight?” He asked, not even hiding the hopefulness in his tone. 

Trent huffed a laugh, “A hell of a lot. I’ve got training at 6am. Plus I don't do that on a first date,” he joked.

Marcus glanced at his watch with a chuckle, “I’ve got about an hour to convince you then huh?”

Trent grinned at him, and Marcus felt himself grin back without even thinking about it, “Good luck.” 

_It took two minutes of Trent pressed against Marcus’ car to convince him._

-

“I’m gonna tell Jesse,” Marcus told Trent at 5.03 the next morning as Trent stumbled around his room getting dressed. 

“What?” Trent asked, pulling his socks on, then his jeans. 

“I’m gonna tell him about us,” Marcus explained, sitting up in bed. 

Trent paused in the middle of buttoning up his jeans and grinned at Marcus, “Really? You sure?” 

“Yeah. Yeah definitely. Can’t be doing this only once a month.”

Trent snorted in amusement, reaching for his t-shirt and pulling it over his head, “So you’re doing it so we can have sex more often?”

“My right hand just ain’t the same, babe.”

Trent laughed brightly, making Marcus grin at having caused it. He grinned at the scouser when he leaned over the bed, leaning up to meet his lips. “Hope training goes well.” 

“Thanks,” Trent smiled, kissing him once more before standing back up, “See you soon,” he said picking up his phone and leaving quietly. 

- 

Marcus did not tell Jesse.

He tried, he really did. But every time he’d start to tell him, Jesse would distract him with something or lose interest in his mumbling. Trent asked him a few times, and he deflected the question each time and he could tell the other boy was getting annoyed at him. He felt like they were on the edge of a fight about it. 

They didn’t see each other for another two weeks, and this time it was a night out for one of their friend’s birthdays and Marcus could tell from the beginning of the night it was going to end in disaster. 

Marcus had panicked when he saw Trent in a tight black t-shirt and greeted him with a high five (he almost high fived himself straight in the face after) and Trent was short with him for the next few hours, sticking to Jesse and seeming to keep him away from Marcus on purpose. 

The two kept laughing together and were buying each other drinks and whispering about something and Marcus felt himself getting steadily more annoyed. What were they laughing about that he couldn’t laugh about too? Why wasn’t Jesse talking to him and what was Trent whispering to him? Did he decide to tell Jesse himself? Surely he wouldn’t do that?

When the club closed, Marcus’ head was pounding and he was tired enough to sleep but no one else was and he wasn’t going to go home first and just leave Trent and Jesse together. So he agreed when Jesse suggested they all go back to Marcus’ house, letting all 12 of them go back to his house even though he knew he’d regret it tomorrow morning when he had to clean up. Within twenty minutes his place was a mess, loud music blaring from his speakers and a card game happening on one side of the room. 

Marcus was watching Trent and Jesse talk on the other side of the couch when someone nudged his side and he turned to blink at Sunny. “What about you Rash?” 

“Eh?”

“You got a girl?”

“Yeah he does!” Jesse said loudly, “He’s always texting some girl, clearly needs to be shagging her more though, poor lad always looks pent up.”

Marcus glared at them as the rest of them laughed, eyes meeting Trent’s. “No I don’t.” 

“You’re not pent up or you’ve not got a girl?” Sunny asked. 

“I’m not pent up,” Marcus said without thinking, and they all started jeering and making dumb noises, shouting questions at him.

“What’s her name, Beans?” Jesse asked, looking offended, “Why didn’t you tell me, what the hell?”

Marcus swallowed nervously, eyes on Trent’s. Trent was staring at him blankly, jaw clenched tightly and Marcus could feel his stomach clenching and he felt a little sick. “Yeah, what’s her name Rash?” Trent asked, voice tight and Marcus could have thrown up.

“Don’t make us guess!” Jesse added, standing up to lean over Marcus, “Where’s your phone, let’s see.” He asked, starting to search Marcus for his phone.

“Hey, get off me! None of your business man,” he huffed, play fighting with Jesse for a few minutes and coming away with only one smack to the back of his head. He rubbed his hair back into position with an annoyed grumble, stomach dropping when he noticed that Trent had left the room.

“Gonna go piss,” he said, getting up quickly. Trent’s shoes were still by the door so he hadn’t left, so Marcus headed upstairs towards the bathroom instead. Trent wasn’t in there either, but Marcus’ bedroom door was open so he headed there, pausing in the doorway when he saw Trent stood by the window, staring out at the Manchester skyline. 

“Trent,” he breathed.

Trent didn’t move, so he closed the door behind him and stepped closer. “Babe?” 

Trent scoffed quietly and the noise felt like it cut through Marcus’ stomach. “Babe?” He repeated, turning to look at Marcus, “Sure ‘bout that?” 

“Oh come on.”

“You fucking high-fived me earlier, Marcus. That felt like fucking shit just then, too.”

“I tried!” He exclaimed, “I’ve been trynna fucking tell him for ages it’s not that fucking easy you know! Bet you ain’t told Joe or Ben.”

“Only cause you haven’t told Jesse!”

“Oh sure-”

“Fuck off, don’t give me that tone.”

“You always give me a fucking tone-”

“You deserve it,” Trent snapped, and at this point they were stood toe to toe, glaring at each other and Marcus could feel his heart in his ears and he could barely breathe and shit Trent looked  _hot_  in that t-shirt. 

“Would you punch me if I kissed you right now?” He asked breathlessly and the only answer he got was Trent’s lips smashing against his fast and desperate. Marcus kissed him back immediately, hands gripping Trent’s t-shirt tightly, letting out a desperate moan.  _Would it be totally inappropriate to have Trent fuck him while his mates were downstairs?_ Maybe his friends were right and he  _was_  pent up. 

“They can’t hear us,” Trent mumbled against his lips, breaking the kiss very briefly as if he could read his mind and Marcus just groaned in agreement, one hand going to Trent’s belt, pushing it open and slipping a hand into his underwear.

“Marcus, where d’you-” The silence that followed Jesse’s voice and the door opening was deafening. Trent and Marcus couldn’t pull apart in time, all they could do was break the kiss and turn to stare at Jesse in surprise, lips swollen, Marcus’ arm around Trent’s waist and his hand down his underwear.  

“What the fuck?” Jesse asked, staring at them in shock. “What the fuck?”

Neither Trent nor Marcus spoke for a long second before Marcus finally got his brain working again and took a step back, letting go of Trent, “Wait - I can explain, we-”

“You’re fucking snogging, I thought you had a girl?” Jesse asked, eyes wider than Marcus had ever seen them, voice higher than he’d ever heard it. He was giving Marcus a look like he thought he was a dick and he wasn't sure if it was cause he was kissing Trent or cause he thought Marcus was  _cheating with_ Trent. 

“Trent’s the girl,” Marcus admitted, the words leaving his mouth reluctantly and in a rush. 

“I’m not a girl,” Trent huffed, flinching when they both turned to glare at him, quickly doing his trousers back up. “Okay. I’m just gonna...” he nodded towards the door, “Leave you two to talk.”

“No, hang on. What the fuck is going on?” Jesse asked, blocking the door with his hand. 

Marcus watched Trent sigh, turning to look at him and now they were both staring at him and he was sure he was about to pass out. “I...” he took a long steadying breath, eyes on Trent’s as he tried to calm himself down. He'd planned out ways to tell Jesse so much over the past two weeks and not once in any of the scenarios he'd planned had his best friend walked in on him with his hand down Trent's underwear. 

Trent seemed to take pity on him as his face softened and he walked closer to stand next to Marcus, putting an arm around his waist and squeezing it comfortingly and he could have kissed him right there in front of Jesse. Jesse who was still staring at him, confused and shocked.

Marcus took a long deep breath, “We’re seeing each other,” he told Jesse, staring at him defiantly. “I’m -” another deep breath. “I like guys too.” 

Jesse wasn’t saying anything, was just staring at him and this was probably the longest he’d been silent since Marcus had ever known him and he wasn’t sure what to do, should he be freaking out? Should he be leaving? Was Jesse going to leave? 

“Jess I’m-”

“A fucking idiot,” Jesse interrupted, rushing at him so quickly Marcus didn’t have a chance to protect himself, but then Jesse was wrapping his arms around him so tightly he could barely breathe. “I don’t give a shit, Beans! I’m just mad you didn’t tell me!”

Marcus breathed a massive sigh of relief, feeling like he could cry as he lifted his arms to wrap them around Jesse tightly. God, he loved his best friend. He really, really did. He didn’t know what he did to deserve someone who looked after him so much and cared for him so much, but he was so grateful for it. “Really?” he asked in a whisper.

“Yeah, obviously you idiot!” Jesse laughed, arms tightening around Marcus. 

“Um.” Trent cleared his throat next to them and Marcus glanced over to realise that Jesse had trapped Trent’s arm around Marcus’ waist when he hugged him. Trent pulled his arm out with a groan, “We good then?” he asked, taking a step back and eyeing Jesse slightly warily and Marcus thought maybe Trent hadn’t been as confident as he let on.

Jesse nodded, not letting go of Marcus, “Yeah, obviously. I mean, bit dumb of yous to date rival players and I wanna know literally everything but obviously I don’t care,”he scoffed. “Don’t know why you thought I would.”

“ _I_ didn’t,” Trent, the traitor, said with a shrug.

Jesse rolled his eyes at Marcus before making a face and quickly stepping back, “Was your hand on his dick when I walked in?” he asked as if just realising. 

Marcus flushed, “Um-”

“Fucking hell, clearly are pent up. Right, we’re going, I’ll get everyone out. You can tell me everything tomorrow,” Jesse said, pausing and glancing between them. He grinned brightly, “I’m gonna have a lot of fun making yous uncomfortable,” he told them.

“Jess?” Marcus said quietly, making Jesse pause at the door. “Thanks, mate.” 

Jesse smiled softly, “Of course, Rash,” he said quietly before leaving. 

They were silent for a few minutes, Marcus could hear his door opening and closing a few times and he was surprised at how quickly Jesse had managed to get them out. He laughed when he heard Jesse shout “See ya beans!” up the stairs before turning to walk towards the bed, pulling off his clothes as he went. 

“You were worried for nothing, babe,” he said, laughing loudly when Trent through a pillow at his face. 

Everything was good, at least for now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit rushed - hope you guys like it!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tabloid rumours have Trent questioning everything following the Southampton match.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me?

It’s Kyle that tells him, inadvertently after the Southampton game. He sends a link to the article to the England boys group chat with a few laughing emojis and the caption “Why do you lads all go for these Love Island girls?”. 

Trent doesn’t see it until after the match, not for at least forty minutes after because Naby’s scored his first goal for the team and Hendo and Mo have scored for the first time in a long time and he spends a long time celebrating with the team. It’s another win, a well fought one that he’s ecstatic about despite the fact that he didn’t have a great game himself. The team played well and they won and that’s what’s most important. 

He’s on a such a high from the game, that when he finally picks up his phone and clicks on the link that Kyle sent, and reads in big bold letters  _LOVE ISLAND STAR SEEN COSYING UP TO MANCHESTER ACE MARCUS RASHFORD IN NIGHT CLUB,_  it feels like his stomach drops about 85,000 feet. 

Trent blinks rapidly, reading and re-reading the title seven times to make sure he’s read it right. He scrolls down with a shaky thumb and reads the article speedily, he knows the night they’re talking about the club they mention. Trent hadn’t joined Marcus and the boys out because he’d been doing late night training with Virgil and Robbo.  _Was that why?_

Trent can’t breathe suddenly, feels like when he was five and had an allergic reaction and his throat was closing up, feels the same panic and and fear in his chest. He can feel a pair of eyes on him and when he looks up, he meets Joe’s eyes, they’re full of something Trent can’t quite name - shock, sympathy, maybe even anger - and Trent can’t move a single muscle. He feels frozen with shock, feels like his ears are buzzing and a sob is trying to force its way out of his throat.  _Fuck._  

“Rash needs to be more careful if he’s going to be fucking around with these types a girls,” He hears Studge say and glances over to see him showing Hendo the article on his phone. He has a brief moment where he’s glad that none of the boys other than Joe know about him and Marcus, Joe’s pitying look is more than painful enough. 

Joe stands up and Trent knows he’s about to walk over to him, so he jumps up immediately, stuffing his phone into his bag and rushing out of the changing rooms, quickly enough that he knows Joe can’t quite keep up yet. It’s a cheap move, but he can’t find the energy to care right now. 

Trent had never thought about how he’d react to something like this, because he never thought it would happen, but he assumed it would be anger. That he’d feel the need to rush over to Manchester and punch Marcus so hard he wouldn’t be able to talk to anyone else let alone kiss them but all he feels is pain.

His chest feels so heavy it almost feels like it’s weighing him down as he steps onto the coach with his head down, sits down near the front, pulling his hood up and covering his face. His heart’s hammering so painfully in his chest, his eyes are stinging and he feels like he could throw up any second. He can’t believe Marcus could do this, that he really didn’t give a fuck about Trent that he’d -  _fuck him. Fuck him and his promises and his kisses and his-_

Trent jumps when he feels a hand land on his shoulder, looks up and meets Joe’s eyes again. Joe’s pushed his bag on the floor and squeezed into the seat next to him. “It’s probably not true,” he says quietly so that no one else overhears even though only two others are on the coach at this point. “It’s the Daily Mail, can’t trust any of the shit they come out with. Last week they said Sadio was off to - Trent come on man,” he sighs when Trent shakes his hand off roughly.

Trent doesn’t respond, just puts his headphones in and very pointedly turns towards the window. He doesn’t want to discuss the merits of the daily mail right now, because he’s running through every minute of that night in his head.  _Had he taken to long to respond to Marcus’ texts? Was Marcus pissed he didn’t come out? Did Marcus even text him that night?_  He’s half tempted to scroll up through their messages to check, but he thinks if he even sees one of Marcus’ messages - lies - his pain might burst out of him into tears. 

The coach is getting full as the rest of the boys join them but Joe doesn’t move, doesn’t leave Trent’s side even when Virgil gives him a questioning look and silently asks if he’s going to join him further down the coach. When Trent’s phone starts buzzing in his bag they both stare at it for a long minute and it’s Joe that reaches in to grab it, ignores Marcus’ call when it’s clear Trent doesn’t want to answer. As soon as the call disappears they can both see two messages appear on his lock screen from Marcus.

**Trent please just call me back**

**Let me explain**

 

_Let me explain._

Trent stares at the words and feels his last bit of hope sink away and turns his head to look at Joe, silently begging for something, he’s just not sure what.

Joe swears under his breath, unlocks Trents phone and he’s not really sure when Joe learned his password but he doesn’t care. Joe sends a message to Trents family group chat that says ‘ ** _Phones dying, with Joe if you need me’_** then turns Trent's phone off. He throws it into his own bag then kicks the bag under the seat below.

Joe stares back at him for a second then, as if trying to figure out the best way to handle this, and then he’s pulling Trent’s iPad out of his bag and placing it on the tray in front of them, putting on an old episode of The Office, UK version even though Joe hates the UK version.

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even ask Trent to speak or how he’s feeling, just shifts so their arms are pressed together and keeps his attention on the IPad.

Trent feels another twinge in his chest, but this time it’s one of gratitude for his best friend. He can’t quite find the words to respond, it feels like if he opens his mouth nothing but sobs will escape and he can’t be doing that right now. So instead he turns towards Joe and lets the older boy pull him into his chest, doesn’t even complain when he starts soothingly playing with his hair. 

“What do I do?” He whispers ten minutes into the first episode and his voice is so quite he thinks Joe might not hear him at first. 

Joe sighs heavily against his head, hand moving to squeeze his shoulder, “I’ll get Virg and we’ll go beat him up.” It’s a joke and it works, startles a laugh out of Trent, but it dissolves into a shaky sob immediately. He knows at some point Joe will make fun of him for this, for basically letting Joe hold him while he cries, but right now Joe’s arms are tightening around him and he’s being silent but supportive and he’s so incredibly grateful he can’t bring himself to be embarrassed. 

Joe doesn’t leave his side for the rest of the night. When they get back to their hotel, he has a quick short conversation with Virgil that Trent wishes he hadn’t overheard, explains that he’s staying with Trent tonight even when Trent tells him it’s not necessary. It is, and he wants Joe to stay, but he’s been vulnerable enough that day and he feels the need to at least pretend to put up a fight. Virgil’s whispered response isn’t quiet enough and Trent makes a face at him as Joe leads them up to Trents room. Dirty bastard.

He spends the whole night chatting shit with Trent, even though Trents not really responding, the stories Joe are telling him are at least keeping his head clear and stopping him from thinking about things he doesn’t want to. His chest still feels heavy and he has to pinch himself a few times to stop his thoughts drifting to dark places. At one point Joe’s phone starts ringing and Trent sees Marcus’ name light up his phone for a brief second before Joe blocks his number.

He keeps talking as if nothing happened, and Trent falls asleep not long after, lying next to his best friend and feeling like maybe, just maybe he’ll be okay.

-

When they get back to Melwood he says goodbye to all the boys. They don’t know what’s happened but they obviously must know he’s not feeling great because they all seem to give him tighter hugs than they normally would if they were going to be seeing him the next day for training. Sadio rubs his head affectionately and murmurs, “Everything will be fine little one,” before leaving. He thinks Klopp might give him about four hugs before he manages to get to his car.

Joe’s car is next to his and they walk over together, with Virgil. “You want me to head back with you?” Joe asks over the top of their cars.

“Nah I’m good,” Trent assures him, putting his stuff in his car and hesitating a second before walking over to Joe, hugging him tightly. “Thanks,” he whispers, stepping back before Joe can respond. He gives Virgil another quick hug too, before getting into his car and heading home.

Except now he’s alone, and his thoughts go immediately to Marcus and they can’t stop going round in panicked circles.  _Is it his fault? Should he have joined them on the night out? Did he piss Marcus off that day somehow? Were they fighting?_  He doesn’t understand why, and for some reason he thinks if he knows why, then he’ll be okay. Then he’ll be able to move past this and stop feeling like his he’s either going to throw up or burst into tears.

Before he knows it he’s changed course and is heading to Manchester, going as fast as the speed limit will allow. He knows Joe would probably call him an idiot if he knew what he was doing right now, but the panic was starting to claw through his chest again and he needed some answers, deserved them.

It takes him a full forty minutes to arrive at Marcus’ house and he sits in his car, parked on the other side of the street for another ten before managing to make himself get out and walk to the gate. He knows he code and he doesn’t really feel like giving Marcus much warning, so he lets himself in. He knows Marcus - the idiot - also always leaves his door open so he lets himself into the house too.

Marcus is sat in his living room, slumped low on the couch with Saint lying by his feet. The TV’s not even on, he’s just staring into space and he doesn’t notice Trent stood in the doorway until Saint does, jumping up and barking excitedly, rushing over to him.

Marcus jumps up, eyes wide. “Trent,” he breathes, voice hoarse like he’s not spoken in days, as Trent reaches down absentmindedly to pat Saint’s head. “What are you - I’ve been calling you. All night.”

“Phone’s off,” Trent says quietly.

“Called Joe too. And Ty. Think they both blocked me.” Trent shrugs in response. He wasn’t positive about Ty, but he wouldn’t be surprised.

Marcus swallows roughly and takes a hesitant step forward, but Trent quickly takes one back, almost tripping over Saint who’s desperately trying to get his attention. “No,” he says forcefully. “Not -I just. You wanted to explain. Go ahead,” he says. “From over there. Don’t come closer. I can’t - can’t think straight otherwise.”

Marcus looks lost for a second, glancing around the room for a second as if someone else will appear and give him the answers. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers everntually.

Trent closes his eyes, leans back against the wall at the same time as his heart sinks. Fuck. He runs a shaky hand over his face and moves to sit on the couch furthest from Marcus so his legs don’t give out. “So it’s true?” He asks quietly.

“It - no. Not like they said but-“

“But you kissed her.”

“No- she kissed me!”

“Did you kiss her back?” Trent asks, looking up at Marcus, jaw clenched.

Marcus stares back and it looks like his eyes might be watering as he lets out a frustrated breath. “Just let me explain.”

“I said explain!” Trent snapped, “Fucking explain then.” Marcus was pissing him off, he had no right to cry right now, he wasn’t the one having his heart broken.

Marcus sniffs, swiping the back of his hand over his nose before sitting down on his coffee table in front of Trent. He almost tells him to sit further away, but doesn’t have the energy to be that petty. “We went out with the boys and - and they came over and started chatting to us. She kept trynna like, sit on me lap and I swear I made her move. Nicely though like, I didn’t wanna be a prick,” he ignores Trents snort of derision and continues. “We were so drunk and she was proper flirting I wasn’t flirting back I was just being friendly ask Jesse-“

“As if Jesse wouldn’t lie for you.”

“He wouldn’t have to its the truth! I- I didn’t. We were just having a laugh and then she kissed me.”

“And you kissed her back.”

Marcus winces, face looking pained. “Only for a second, I swear. Then I pushed her off and we left. Some of her friends went back with Jess and Jamal I just came home. Alone I swear.”

Trent lowers his face into his hands, clenching his jaw so tightly it hurts. “Why?” He asks through gritted teeth. “Why were you even acting like that with her? You can be friendly without flirting.”

Marcus doesn’t answer and Trent lifts his head to look at him, sees the guilty expression on his face and swearing immediately. “You fucking prick-“

“Trent-“

“It’s cause of that isn’t it? Let me guess the lads were making comments about you never pulling any birds and instead of telling your closest friends, or I don’t know not giving a shit, you decided to kiss a random girl to prove them wrong and fuck me over?” Trent surmises. “Right? We’re back to this fucking argument again.”

Marcus’s voice is shaky now, his hands shaking too as he runs a hand through his hair. “It’s not that fucking easy - you know it’s not, I-“

“Only Joe knows. Only Joe, yet I manage to ignore them when the lads make comments about me not having any luck with girls cause it doesn’t fucking matter!”

“It’s not that fucking easy!” Marcus shouts, standing up and glaring down at Trent.

“Oh and this is? This is fucking better? Making me feel like shit is a better solution for you? And to find out from fucking  _Kyle_.” Trent’s voice breaks at the end and he lets out a frustrated groan. Saint’s pushing at his knee with a whine and he gently pushes him away as Marcus drops back onto the coffee table, the fight leaving him as quickly as it came.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Marcus whispers, hands reaching out to Trent desperately. He reaches for his hand, his knee, anything he can touch. “Please, it was a moment of stupidity I would never - I didn’t want to hurt you, I never want to hurt you. I-I love you.” He whispers, hand clenching tightly around Trent’s hoodie. “Baby please.”

Trent knows this. It’s the first time either of them have said it out loud but he knows, knows that Marcus knows he loves him too. And he’s so incredibly mad at Marcus for saying it for the first time like this. Like an apology instead of a moment of happiness.

He stands up quickly, putting some distance between them as he walks back to the doorway. “Don’t, don’t. You don’t get to say that to me right now.”

“It’s true.”

“Then fucking act like it!” Trent shouts, “You can’t say you love me and keep doing this shit!” He let out a long sigh, “I- I love you too,” he admits regretfully and he’s sure he can see hope flicker across Marcus’ face. “But that’s not enough.”

Marcus is in front of him in seconds, hands cupping Trents face, voice begging, “Don’t do this, I know I fucked up. I know I did, I’m so sorry. Look I’ll tell everyone-“

“No,” Trent pulls back, voice breaking, barely above a whisper, “I’m not asking you to do that, I would never,” he sighs. “You’re not listening to me. I’m not saying you have to tell everyone just don’t fucking cheat on me,” he laughs bitterly. “I didn’t think I’d have to  _ask_  you that.”

Marcus’ eyes are wide and wet and he lets out a shaky breath, “I only kissed her back for a second. I swear,” he promises quietly. “I wasn’t thinking, it was reflex, I-“ he cuts himself off with another shaky breath, in out as he tries to calm himself down.

Trent nods slowly, “Yeah,” he said quietly, eyes focused on the floor, staring at Marcus’ socked feet. He’d got him those, told him they were Liverpool red and Marcus had refused to wear them for 2 months until he’d stepped in a wet patch and had no other clean ones to wear.

“Are we…”

“I don’t know,” Trent shrugs. “Right now, I can’t. I can’t be near you like normal.”

Marcus nods once, like maybe he understand why, “But…maybe-“

“Maybe.” Trent agrees. He hates himself for agreeing. But he had meant what he said, he loved Marcus. He didn’t feel like he was in love right now though. All he could feel was pain and tiredness. “I’m gonna go.”

“Can I call you tomorrow?” Marcus asks hopefully.

“No. I’ll call you when I’m ready,” Trent says immediately. He wasn’t going to give up the power here, that was for sure. “I’ve got training anyway, so,” he shrugs.

“Okay,” Marcus says quietly, eyes not leaving Trent. “That’s fair.”

Trent nods slowly, taking another step back. “I’ll um…see you around. Good luck, for Barcelona”, he says before walking out.

He won’t admit to anyone that he cries all the way home and all night into his mother’s cardigan when he eventually gets there, and even then the heaviness still doesn’t leave his chest.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trent picks up Marcus after a heavy loss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a short one today, mostly cause I'm still pissed about the way the u*ited/c*ty game went, hope you enjoy though!

Trent hasn’t moved in an hour, sat stock still at his kitchen table staring at his phone. He’d watched the game with Alex and Rhian, and they’d all been angry and disappointed with the score, but not even a little bit surprised. Klopp had told them all yesterday this would happen, he told them that there was reason to rely on others and to just do their best and that would be enough for him to be proud. It was nice to hear, but there was no way they couldn’t be disappointed. 

Trent had spent most of the match feeling  _angry_  though, angry at Jesse and angry at Marcus. Especially Marcus. Neither of them seemed to be making a single right move, every pass went wrong and every shot was too wide or too high. Trent felt like they weren’t even trying and he got more pissed off with each minute of the game. 

He had been in an uber back to his house and had been scrolling through instagram when he saw a picture of Marcus on the pitch looking absolutely exhausted. The kind of tired that wore through your soul after a long season, that made you second guess every single pass and shot you made. Trent knew what it was like, he'd had a rough couple of weeks but he had Klopp and the boys to pull him back up. He wasn't sure Marcus had that at the moment and Trent thought that knowing Marcus felt like that, was almost worse than feeling that way himself. 

He’d seen Marcus like this before. Last year when the Mourinho drama reached it’s peak, when he was slagging them off every minute in the press and they were losing every game. One night, Marcus got so drunk he could barely speak, turned up at Trent’s house at 2am, ranted for twenty minutes before passing out. Trent spent the rest of the night watching him sleep to make sure he didn’t choke in his sleep. 

So now he was staring at his phone wondering whether he should text Marcus or not. They haven’t spoken in two weeks. 

Well. Trent hadn’t spoken. 

Marcus had messaged him several times. He’d message him after each match to congratulate him, he’d message him randomly to tell Trent something reminded him of the scouser, he’d let him know how his day was going, what he’d eaten. Trent never responded. He only texted Marcus once, after the Barcelona match to tell him he was sorry. A quick, short message. Marcus hadn’t responded to that one, just texted him the next morning to say he’d had a full english and felt a bit sick.

Trent picked up his phone before he could second guess it any further, the fear of how Marcus was doing outweighing his feelings of being hurt. 

**How you doing?**

Marcus is online and the ticks turn blue immediately, as if he’d been about to text Trent himself. 

**_Shit._ **

**You home? Can be there in 40 minutes.**

**_Please._ **

Trent’s out of his seat in a heartbeat, he’s nervous about what state he’s going to find Marcus in and he’s eager to get there quickly so he can clean up whatever mess Marcus has made of himself. 

When he finally gets to Marcus’ house, he let himself in and finds him sat in the dark of his living room, not even the TV on. He’s got his phone clutched tightly in his hand and he’s staring into space, looking exhausted and defeated and Trent’s chest feels heavy looking at him. 

“Marcus?” He asks quietly, mostly to make his presence known but Marcus doesn’t react even a little bit. He steps into the room quietly, carefully, doesn’t want to scare Marcus when he finally notices he’s there. He crouches down in front of him, cupping his face gently and making Marcus look at him. His heart breaks a little at just how  _broken_  his boyfriend looks. “Marcus,” he murmurs. “Oh, love, I’m so sorry.”

Marcus lets out a sob that claws at Trent’s heart before he climbs onto Marcus’ lap, wraps his arms around him tightly and lets him cry into his neck.

“I’m sorry - I’m so sorry,” Marcus is repeating into his neck, and Trent keeps shushing him gently, running soothing fingers through his hair and holding him tightly. Marcus is clutching at him so tightly it’s almost painful, “I’m sorry - I tried, I can’t-”

“What you sorry for, you idiot?” Trent frowns, pulling back to look at him, but Marcus can’t seem to stop apologising, the words falling out of his mouth against his will. “Marc-Marcus, baby, stop.” He presses a thumb to Marcus’ lips, resting their foreheads together. “Just breathe. Just focus on your breathing, in out, love, come on.”

Marcus stops his rambling, taking big, painful breaths in and out for a long few minutes until he can breathe normally again. “There you go,” Trent murmurs softly, wiping the tears off Marcus’ cheeks. “You’re alright. Everything’s fine.” 

Marcus shakes his head, letting out another shaky breath, “It’s not though. Nothing - nothing’s fucking fine. I feel like I’m drowning. We can’t win a fucking game, it’s the derby and we can’t - Paul’s gonna leave, probably the others, I can’t,” he takes a big gulp of a breath, “I can’t breathe and I can’t. I can’t do this without you and I know I can’t say that when I messed up but I  _need_  you and,” he cuts himself off, pushing his face into Trent’s neck again, fresh tears bursting out. “I’m sorry, I'm sorry." 

Trent blinks the tears out of his eyes, clearing his throat as he holds Marcus tightly. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to help Marcus right now and he feels incredibly helpless. 

Trent holds him for a bit longer, trying his best to be as comforting as he can but he feels like he has no idea what he's doing. It's usually the other way round, Marcus comforting Trent when he gets wound up about something.

When Marcus finally calms down, his sobs stopping, he pulls back and keeps his eyes low. “Thanks for coming,” he murmurs, voice low and embarrassed. 

“Anytime,” Trent promises just as quietly, and it’s startling to realise he means it. He  _loves_  Marcus, would do anything for him and he doesn’t know when that happened. When Marcus stopped being a boyfriend and started being the most important person in his life. 

Trent moves to stand up, pausing when Marcus whines in surprise, hands tightening on his shirt in panic. “Not going anywhere” he reassures him, reaching for his hands and squeezing them tightly. He keeps hold of his hands as he stands up, pulls Marcus to his feet. “Come on. It’s late. Have you eaten?” 

Marcus nods, hands gripping Trent’s tightly. “Yeah, yeah ate earlier.” 

Trent nods, leads them through the house. He locks the front door and checks the windows are closed before leading them up to Marcus’ room. Marcus seems intent on not doing anything, just watching Trent and he stands in the middle of his room not moving an inch. 

Trent sighs, stepping forward to help him get undressed, nudging him towards the bed. The game and the crying have clearly exhausted Marcus, because once Trent joins him, he clings to him and falls asleep in minutes. Even in sleep he’s frowning, tense and unrelaxed. Trent doesn’t sleep for even a minute, watching him intently. He knows Marcus will be fine again in the morning, knows he’ll get over the loss and push himself to be better for the next game but he’s in his head too much about their relationship that he can’t really seem to settle. 

He’s known Marcus a while, his first memory of him was as a rival. United’s golden boy,  _manc born and bred,_  they sang, and he was Liverpool’s golden boy,  _the scouser in our team._  That was the only way they saw each other for a long time, Trent would never have even considered being friends with him, then he’d become friends with Jesse and it was almost inevitable. He’d see Marcus all over Jesse’s Instagram, see his dumb little comments and his bright smiles and Trent’s crush started before they even properly met at St George’s Park. 

It had just been a crush until he found out Marcus felt the same then Trent was falling more and more with each date, each kiss, each petname and whispered promise in the middle of the night.

Now here he was, driving forty minutes to Manchester at 1 in the morning to make sure Marcus was okay because the thought of him being in pain caused  _Trent_  pain. He’s trying to figure out what this means for their future and their relationship when Marcus starts shifting in his arms, waking up slowly, just after 7am. 

Marcus rubs at his eyes as he yawns, shuffling back slightly to his own side of the bed as he properly wakes up, his eyes clearing as they settle on Trent.

Trent pulls his arms back, massaging feeling into the one Marcus had been lying on, “You okay?” He asks softly. 

Marcus nodds, rubbing a hand over his face with a long sigh. “Yeah. Sorry, that was…”

“Needed, probably.”

Marcus snorts, “Yeah, I guess. Still. Thank you for coming,” he holds a hand out hesitantly to Trent.

Trent smiles softly, taking Marcus’ hand in his and pulling it closer, kissing the back of his hand softly. Marcus grins and does the same to Trent’s hand. 

“I’ve missed you,” he murmurs against his hand. “I…” he huffs a short noise of frustration. “Seems a bit late now I know. But these past two weeks, I…I realised. I really love you. Not even that, I need you” he says, tone earnest and intense. “Like, I really mean it. I felt like shit, knowing I’d hurt you. I need you to know how important you are to me, babe, you really, really-”

“I know.”

Marcus blinks at him in surprise, “I don’t think you-”

“I do. I feel the same way about you,” Trent chuckles, “Spent the whole night thinking about that actually. I really love you too,” the smile slowly drops of Trent’s face and so does Marcus’.

“But you loved me that night, too. Didn’t you?” He asks quietly.

Tears appear in Marcus’s eyes in seconds and Trent holds back a sigh as he sits up. He can’t have this conversation with Marcus if he’s just going to cry.

“No - wait.” Marcus stops him with a hand wrapped tightly around his wrist. “Please, wait. I did, you’re right. I did love you then too. I just.” He took a long breath. “This sounds dumb I know it does but I didn’t realise how much. You know? I knew I loved you I just didn’t realise how much I loved you, how important you are to me.”

Trent understands what he means, he really does. “I get that,” he says quietly. “But-“

“Please,” Marcus whispers. “Trent, I-“

“I’m not breaking up with you,” Trent assures him, mostly so he stops looking so terrified. Marcus looks at him like he’s drowning and Trent’s just handed him a life jacket and Trent wishes they could end the conversation there. 

“Really?”

“Really. But I just need you to realise that-“

Marcus throws himself forward and suddenly he’s kissing Trent roughly, hands touching every part of him they can. Trent lets him for a few seconds before pushing him back with a laugh, “I can still taste the beer on your tongue from last night,” he frowns, making a face at him.

Marcus laughs but doesn’t seem to care, seems too happy to notice as he leans in again and Trent’s missed him so much that he can ignore the beer breath.

Marcus whispers promises and apologies into Trent’s skin, begs him, worships him and  _loves_  him. Trent’s never had someone say they love him so much in such a short time, and he whispers it back each time, holds Marcus tightly and breathes in every second of him.

It’s not all they do that day. They talk too, Trent making sure that Marcus knows if it happens again he’ll spend the rest of his life without a dick. Making sure he knows how much he hurt him. Marcus cries again as they discuss how to move on, and where to go from here. They order Chinese and play fifa and Trent mocks Marcus’ form last night and Marcus almost looks relieved that Trent’s telling him he’s  _never seen a supposedly world class player play so shit._

They’d happily stay there forever, but Trent has to leave at the end of the day and Marcus walks him to the door, cups his face in his hands and kisses him softly. “Thank you,” he murmurs again. “Let me know when you get home, yeah?”

Trent nods, kisses him once more. “Of course, love.”

Marcus grins, “Love you.”

Trent rolls his eyes, “You can stop saying it now, you melt,” he laughs, but he returns the sentiment before walking out. He feels lighter, the most calm and relaxed he'd felt in weeks and he really doesn't want to go home but knows that if he doesn't now, he'll be late for training tomorrow.

He's smiling a lot when he gets home and his brothers start teasing and questioning him, but he's in a good enough mood to ignore them for once, and he heads up to his room with a smile. 

 

**Home now x**

**_Okay babe. Phone call later or you busy?_ **

**Might do late training with Robbo but I’ll let u know**

**_Okay. Love you xxx_ **

**alright stop it**

_**never** _

**< 3 **

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The best day of Trent's life, so far.

**Good luck babe!  Even if you don’t win, be proud of yourself!!**

**_That’s not the best pep talk but thanks_ **

<3 

- 

**Shit okay good start lads**

**holy shit**

**OH MY GOD WHAT WAS THAT???? THAT FUCKING ASSIST WAS INCREDIBLE YOU SNEAKY LITTLE SHIT!!!**

**I’M SO fucking proud of you oh my god**

**i love you that was AMAZING!**

**< 3 <3 <3 **

- 

Trent remembers the first time he stepped foot in in Anfield like it was yesterday. He’d been gripping his dad’s hand tightly and he the second he could see the crowds and the field and the players, he thought it was the happiest moment of his life and he’d never ever feel joy like it. 

He’d been wrong of course. The first time he  _played_  at Anfield was better. The first time he scored was better. The first time he got called up to play for England was better. There was a million moments in his life that made him feel incredibly blessed, incredibly happy. 

But right then and there, he couldn’t remember a single time he’d felt this happy. They’d won. They’d fucking  _won_  against Barcelona 4-0 and he’d gotten two assists and the were in the final again and they  _won._  

It took seconds after the final whistle for arms to be around him, for him to be grasping at every teammate he could reach. He could barely understand what anyone was saying, could barely make out his own thoughts and someone was constantly shouting in his hear and he was pretty sure he was shouting in everyone’s ears too. 

Rhian kept an arm around his neck for a minute, screaming “you fucking legend” in his ear and Trent laughed loudly. 

Klopp hugged him tightly, lifting him off the ground and telling him how proud of him he was the whole time and Trent had to blink away tears. 

Hendo hugged him so tightly Trent was pretty sure most of the reason was so that he could stay on his feet, so he passed him over to Adam. 

Ben grabbed his face and screamed at him for about thirty seconds and Trent gripped his shoulders and held him close, holding back tears again as he thought about how far they’d come since the academy. 

Robbo gripped him tightly and told him he’d get more assists next time and called him a “cheeky little shit” and Trent just hugged him as tightly as could, asked repeatedly if he was okay. 

Standing arm in arm with his teammates and singing You’ll Never Walk Alone in front of the Kop was the highlight of his entire life. Trent had truly never felt so much pride and love in his heart, he felt like it was spilling out of him on the pitch and all over the grass. He could’t contain it. He was so proud of his team, of their fans, of every player and coach and their manager and in that moment Trent knew he’d never love anything as much as he loved football and this team. 

When Trent finally went inside, he collapsed against the the bench, letting out a long sigh of relief and glanced down, spotting the badge on his chest. He let out a half delirious laugh and kissed it. This was the reason he played.  _Play for the badge on your chest, not the name on your back._

It took hours, honestly, for them to calm down. For the dancing and laughter and cheering and pure disbelief to settle down enough for Trent to sit down and grab his phone. His parents had popped in briefly to say they’d catch up with him tomorrow and the moment his mum was saying how proud she was, Trent couldn’t hold back the tears any more and not a single one of the boys took the piss, cause they understood. He’d seen enough of them with their family or on the phone to them wiping away tears too. They all knew how much this meant. 

It wasn’t until he was finally making his way out of the stadium, just after midnight, that he gets to Marcus’ message and he smiles, stomach doing a little flip. He sends back three heart emojis, not really sure what else he can say to properly express how much the words meant. Marcus was calling him in half a second and he huffa a quick laugh before answering. 

“He-”

“Oh my god,” Marcus was saying, voice loud and excited, “Babe that was incredible. Seriously, so fucking incredible I honestly can’t be- that fucking assist! How did you - you’re so good, baby, you’re so fuck - fuck you must be absolutely buzzing, I can’t even-”

“Marcus!” Trent cut him off, laughing when Marcus took a deep breath and stopped himself. 

“Sorry, sorry!” Marcus laughs, and it sounds like he might be watching friends in the background, Trent can hear the faint sounds of canned laughter. “I just...really proud of you. Really.”

Trent beams, feels that heart bursting feeling again. “Where are you?” 

“At your house, waiting for you,” Marcus says, “I’ve got pizza on the way cause I’m sure Klopp won’t care if you relax on the diet for tonight.”

“Sorry, I should have left earlier but the boys wanted to celebrate and have a few - “

“Don’t be daft!’ Marcus huffs, “Just get home now.” 

Trent gets an uber home in forty minutes and feels ready to collapse by the time he steps inside. Marcus meets him at the door of the living room and he can smell the dominos and beers from there and he’ll be annoyed it at later but it doesn’t matter cause Marcus is there and he’s beaming at him and pulling him close. 

Marcus cups Trent’s face and just grins at him for a few seconds before shaking his head in disbelief, “Fucking hell Trent, incredible,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to Trent’s forehead, his eyelids and finally his lips. 

Trent kisses him back with everything he’s got, for as long as he can before he has to pull back, “I feel...I feel like I’ve never been happier or more tired.” 

Marcus laughs at him in understanding, “I can imagine. Kills me to say about the rest of ‘em, but you lot played your hearts out on that pitch. Barcelona’s not easy, we know that.”

Trent feels guilty then. Marcus had been going through a difficult time with their team lately, he’d not been on his best form himself but obviously Trent wasn’t going to say that. Things were going downhill for them again and it had been really getting to Marcus, understandably. They hadn’t discussed it too much, Marcus didn’t seem to want to focus on it too much, seemed to be holding out for the end of the season, but Trent could tell it had been weighing on him. 

“I-”

“No no,” Marcus cuts him off immediately, “Sorry. I didn’t mean it in that way, honest. I just meant, I know how hard you fought.” 

Trent nods, “Yeah, yeah I get it, it’s just-”

“Honestly. We’re focused on you, forget about us for a bit,” Marcus insists, “Come on babe, let’s go eat,” he says, dragging Trent to the sofa. 

“One question,” Marcus says, taking a slice of pizza and leaning back against the sofa, changing the channel to BT Sport where they’re still discussing the game. “That corner. Was that on purpose or did you just decided to go back quickly?” 

Trent laughs, taking a big bite of his pizza, “Went back, was gonna give it to Shaq,” he explains. 

Marcus laughs, “Thought so. Talk to me come on, you must be dying to.” 

Trent hesitates half a second before he launches into it. “It was amazing, I’ve never felt anything like it, the boys were on fire I’ve never seen them like it! Klopp gave us this massive speech beforehand and he just - he was just telling us to have some fucking balls, and we really fucking did-” 

They eat between words, between Trent’s explanation of the game and Marcus’s inputs from what he saw on the TV. 

“I honestly don’t think I’ve seen Gini cry before and Hendo, poor lad, was basically falling apart at the end, Robbo too -” Trent says as they brush their teeth side by side. 

“You were amazing, so fucking amazing. I’m so proud of you,” Marcus tells him as he kisses along Trent’s jaw and neck. “You’re incredible.”

“This was the best day of my life,” Trent says later, quietly, in the dark of his room with Marcus’ arms wrapped tightly around him, and Marcus presses a kiss of agreement to his temple and Trent hopes the next two games make him even happier. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always appreciated xxxx


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I promise this is the last angsty chapter for AGES.

**I’m sorry.**

In the early hours of the 8th of May, they’re celebrating Trent’s win over Barcelona and Trent’s running his fingers through Marcus’s hair as they fall asleep in a heap on his bed and Marcus can’t remember a time he’s ever felt so content, so at peace, so  _whole._

It comes crashing down incredibly quickly. The short burst of happiness is  _so_  short that Marcus feels like he hasn’t even caught his breath, hasn’t given his throat a chance to recover from screaming at the TV over the Barca game just yet. 

They have to get back to their day jobs, back to the premier league and they’re in the last week and it’s so intense and painful and Marcus finishes sixth and the pain of it crashes against his chest like a tidal wave. Constant and never-ending, every tight breath a reminder.  _No title. No champions league. No chance. Nothing._

**I’m sorry.**

It’s the only text Trent sends him after the game and it feels short and distant, a perfunctory message you send a rival or that one teammate you don’t really talk to on the national team who’s just been injured. It doesn’t help a single bit and Marcus feels himself falling deeper into the hole that the loss causes and he disappears. He goes back to his parents house, turns off his phone for three days and lets himself be comforted in the familiarity and warmth of  _home._

_**I’m sorry.** _

Trent’s so focused on his final game, on the league, on his team, Liverpool, Liverpool, Liverpool. It comes first, football comes first, everything but Marcus comes first it feels like, and Marcus is sure Trent doesn’t even notice that Marcus hasn’t contacted him in three days. When he texts his apology the morning after turning his phone on and finding no missed calls or texts from Trent, the scouser’s response is worse than the silence.

**What for?**

Trent finishes second, and Marcus knows that more than anything it’ll be the hope that’s killed him. They were holding on until the very last game and that’s worse. It’s so much worse because the second your heart lifts with the crowd’s cheer, the second you feel the silverware against your skin, you’re done. When it’s that close and it’s pulled away, it’s like falling off a cliff that’s holding every dream you’ve ever had and suddenly you’re diving head first into  _almosts_. Almost got it, almost scored, almost won. 

**_I’m sorry._ **

**What for?**

Marcus doesn’t text him until two days after and Trent’s clearly still not over it, but two hours later he’s turning up at Marcus’ house with wide eyes desperate for a distraction and some sort of reprieve from the pain. 

But they’re both in pain and Marcus feels it more than ever in that moment. They’re both kids really, barely just adults thrust into what they thought was their dream but is a constant battle, day in day out, and there’s so much on their shoulders and they’re strung so tight it’s inevitable that they’ll break. 

Trent’s the first.

He always is. Trent’s so controlled, so tightly wound and he draws every feeling, every emotion in and hoards it in his chest until it comes pouring out of him in floods of anger and pain and screams and words that feel like a sharp stab into the lungs. 

Marcus wishes he doesn’t remember the words they threw at each other. 

At five minutes in he’s slamming a fist against the table and he’s never heard Trent shout this loudly and he’s barely aware of the words coming out of his mouth. He’s got Trent against the wall twenty minutes in, his red hoodie gripped tightly in two fists as he glares at him, “ - I hate you. I fucking  _hate_  you! Can’t you just feel something, can’t you just feel bad for me are you that fucking devoid of emotion - “

“I’m pissed off too! Why don’t you feel bad for  _me_? We had a chance to win and -”

“ _We_  had a chance - “

Trent’s huff of derision is so biting, so cruel that Marcus pulls him forward before slamming him against the wall again. Trent reacts in seconds and they’re scuffling again and then Trent’s sitting on him, one knee digging into his chest and it’s almost a relief. His brain zeroes in on the physical pain instead of the mental for a short moment. 

“You couldn’t have had a chance in a million years. Was it Jose being a prick or was he just the only one who realised how fucking shit you all are? Your team’s going to get nowhere, especially with you - “

“Shut up, you dick! Just cause you never feel anything -” 

“I feel -”

“I don’t care!” Marcus bites back. He doesn’t believe him, in that moment, he doesn’t believe that Trent’s feeling anything even similiar to empathy towards him or anything in general and his eyes see nothing but red. Trent’s always red. “I don’t give a shit what you’re feeling right now. You’re a fucking emotionless-” he shoves Trent off him, hard, and Trent falls back on his elbow. Marcus sees him wince and still can’t see anything but red. “Do you give a shit about anything other than football? This is my life just as much as it is yours, but you don’t give a shit what happens to me! My team’s important to me too!” 

Trent scoffs again and Marcus has the strongest desire to punch him, so he takes two swift steps back, but Trent takes two forward to get in his face again. “I’m emotionless?” He repeats and Marcus clenches his fists. “You’ve never given a fucking shit about how I feel! Everything’s on your terms. We tell who you want to tell, we go where you want to go and I’ve just fucking gone along with it because-”

“Because you’re a pushover.” He’s not. He’s definitely not, but Marcus is so angry and he’s in so much pain that he wants to push it back out. Force the pain away from him and onto Trent instead so that he can finally understand how Marcus feels. So that  _anyone_  can understand how he feels. 

“You’re a fucking pushover. That’s why. You’re a pushover in defence that’s why Gareth never starts you, that’s why everyone targets you - “ He wants Trent to fight back but when he focuses on his face instead of his eyes, Trent’s face has crumpled into surprise. 

Trent stumbles slightly over his words, leaning back a little, “N-No. Because I love you.” He’s so earnest, so surprised by Marcus’ words and Marcus isn’t sure what’s causing him pain anymore but it’s everywhere and it’s choking him. 

“Because I...I  _wanted_  you and I thought -” his tone’s changed, everything’s changed suddenly and Trent’s got tears in his eyes and his throat sounds like it’s blocked with the words he’s trying to say and Marcus should stop. 

He should stop talking because he’s already been hurtful enough. But Trent’s stood in front of him with wide eyes and there’s still so much red that Marcus can’t think right. 

“I-I thought you loved me too, I thought you-you’d figure it out and you’d-”

“What? Tell everyone we were together? That I was with you?” Marcus hates the way his voice sounds, it’s so harsh and he needs to stop himself. He has to before he goes too far. 

Trent swallows roughly, his breaths coming out in short bursts likes he’s forcing it through, forcing himself to breathe. “Yeah,” he whispers. 

“Why would I do that? You think you’re worth me throwing away everything I’ve worked for?” 

The second the words are out of his mouth, the room shifts. There it is, Marcus thinks. The thing that’s been holding him back from telling people, the thing that he’s been trying so hard not to say and the thing he knows Trent has been thinking this whole time.

Trent inhales sharply, blinking at him rapidly before he nods. 

“Wait,” Marcus begins, but Trent’s already starting to walk away and the red’s disappearing from Marcus’ eyes but so is Trent. “That came our wrong I meant - Trent, I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Trent turns suddenly, blinking at him with narrowed eyes and a tight jaw.  “Why are you sorry?” Trent asks again, and there’s that tone again.

The blank tone that makes Marcus think he doesn’t care, like whatever comes out of Marcus’ mouth won’t matter. It takes him a second to realise Trent’s preparing himself. His shoulders are squared again, he’s waiting for Marcus to deliver another blow. 

Marcus can’t speak, he doesn’t even know what he could say that would fix this. There’s nothing to say. They’ve said everything they’ve been holding back and it’s all on the table and there’s  _nothing_  to say. 

Trent nods once silently, shortly, before he’s out of the door and Marcus is left staring at a blue wall. 

\-----

There’s a loud smack against wood that draws Trent’s attention away from the wall he’d been staring at and to the figure standing in front of him. Hendo’s got his brows drawn and he looks annoyed and a little like he’s out of breath as he lifts his hand from the table he’s just smacked.

“I’ve been stood here for five minutes talking to you.” 

Trent blinks at him slowly and glances around the common room. He’d woken up at 5am because he’d actually barely even fallen asleep and had gotten tired of trying to keep his mind quiet for more than thirty minutes at once so he’d gone for a walk. When he sat down at the table, the lights weren’t on and no one else was here, but now that he looks around it’s full. Most of the boys have got plates balanced on their laps as they eat in front of the tv, some Spanish TV show only half of them understand.

Trent blinks at Hendo again, sees that his lips are moving and a second later his words filter through. “Yeah,” he nods. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine.”

“What you doing here?” 

“We’re all in here,” Trent defends himself even though he knows Hendo’s not having a go.

“I mean here, just sat at the table by yourself. You eaten at all?” Hendo’s got that parent voice he uses on Trent a lot on at the moment as he leans over and pushes Trent’s head up slightly to stare at him, eyes moving rapidly between each of Trent’s. “You feeling alright?” 

Trent shrugs him off with a huff, “Said I’m fine, didn’t I?”

“You’ve barely spoken the whole time we’ve been here. Joe said you weren’t feeling well, something must be up with you -”

Trent pushes him off again with a sigh, spots Joe hovering nervously a few feet away and stands up quickly before they can crowd him. They won’t leave him alone, none of them have. They’re in a massive training camp in Marbella with large open fields surrounding them and Trent’s never felt so suffocated. He doesn’t get a second alone, they’ve even put him in one of the sharing rooms and Ben’s the messiest on the team and he talks until he falls asleep and Trent loves him but he can’t breathe. 

Every second he feels like his breath’s too tight, like he has to force it out of his chest in big painful gulps. His head hurts from everything he’s trying  _not_  to think about and the only time he’s okay, the one time his lungs relax is when he’s on the pitch. When he’s running for that ball and crossing it along the pitch and when the balls hitting the back of the net and he’s running so fast his lungs can barely keep up. 

The second they stop, the heaviness returns.

Trent’s mostly tired of it. He’s twenty years old and in the second champions league final of his life and all he can think about it is losing the premier league and Marcus fucking Rashford and the words he -

“Trent!” 

He barely has a second to move his head as a ball goes whizzing past his face so fast the wind almost leaves a mark. He’s in training and his lungs are burning for two different reasons and he doesn’t know which hurts more. Klopp and the coaches keep giving him side glances and now he’s terrified he won’t start in the final, won’t start in the most important game of his life and he knows exactly who to blame, exactly who his anger should be directed at -

“What the fuck you playing at?” Virgil’s shouting at him, a large hand shoving his shoulder and making him stumble a little because he can’t even be bothered to plant his feet. “It’s a friendly, chill the fuck out.”

He’s pushed Sadio to the floor with a rough shove and he’s not sure why because it’s unnecessary, Virgil’s right it’s a friendly, but his head isn’t there. It’s not focused on Sadio or the game it’s focused on - 

“Sorry.” He says quickly, giving a half hearted attempt to argue the free kick ruling, but it’s forced and no one bothers responding. He keeps to himself the rest of training and eats in his room and very loudly ignores Ben chattering away on the other side of the room. He’s never felt like this before, this weird empty feeling that makes him feel tired and slow and just generally  _off_  all the time. He’s doing everything he can to distract himself. 

He’s got his headphones plugged in and he’s scrolling through Instagram when he spots a video of Marcus. His heart squeezes painfully when he sees him but he’s an idiot so he still clicks on the video to watch it, puts the volume up as high as it goes. 

Marcus is stood in a training ground at St George’s Park wearing a bright green bib and sweating slightly and he looks fine. Absolutely fine and normal and  _fine_. “I hope Tottenham win,” he says, eyes clear and focused. “I hope Tottenham win it. Both teams had done - “

Trent scrolls off the video, then scrolls back up to watch it three more times. He’s so angry so quickly it takes him off guard, hurts in a way he wasn’t expecting. He thinks he’s been numb the past week and now that he’s finally  _feeling_ , it’s raw and sharp and painful and  _fuck_  he’s so angry. 

It stays with him the rest of the day and into the team night out that Joe’s dragged him too even though he’s clearly not in the mood and he knows already it’s a bad idea. He knows when he’s having his third drink and he knows when he’s having his sixth, but he still pours himself that seventh and by his eighth, he’s started drunk texting.

**I hate u**

**I dont care if u hate me,,,i hate u**

He doesn’t get a response and he’s had two sips of a ninth drink and decided  _calling_  is a much better idea. He’s not even a little surprised that it goes straight to voicemail because Marcus always puts his calls to voicemail at night and it’s 2.54 am. 

He’s squeezed into a fairly quiet corner near the cloakroom and the walls wet and sticky but Trent’s focused on waiting for that beep. “I hate you,” he tells him as soon as the sound comes through. “I - you know how much this means to me. I told you, I  _told_  you how hard last year was you’re the only fucking person I told and you said you wanted them to win. you want Tottenham to - haven’t you done enough?” he asks and he wishes Marcus could answer because his voice is breaking and he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold on. “Haven’t you - you  _broke_ me. I can’t do anything, I can’t think, I can’t breathe I can’t fucking  _do_  anything, and it’s your fault.  And you know what? I hope United never win anything. I hope England lose everything too, just so you personally never lift a fucking trophy again. And you know what? Jesse’s right, your nails are shit -”

The cold air hits him like a brick, and then what feels like another brick hits his back as one of the boys shoves him out of the doorway so they can follow him out. Someone’s telling him off, he knows they are but he can’t really make out what it is they’re saying and he just doesn’t have the energy to try to. 

The next thing he’s conscious of is being gently ushered into bed and he’s somehow now in his boxers and there’s a soft hand brushing across his hair and it’s the final thing he registers before he falls asleep. 

He wakes up to a pounding headache and two texts from Marcus. 

_**I couldn’t have said I want Liverpool to win. You know that.** _

**_I miss you so much. And I’m sorry._   
**

**For what?**

_**Everything.** _

_-_

It’s pure joy. 

It’s the very definition of happiness and Trent has never truly felt it like he has in that moment. 

The sounds of the fans are deafening and so beautiful, so  _happy_  ,Trent’s forcing back tears but for the first time in weeks they’re happy tears. They’ve done it. They’ve fucking won the Champions League. 

This is worth everything. It’s worth the pain of last year, it’s worth Hendo nearly dying against Barca, it’s worth his lungs feeling like they’re going to give out, it’s worth the stress of every last minute goal _._ He’s got arms around him every second, he’s got people screaming in his ear and his teammates are so full of joy he can’t fully comprehend it. He’s half worried he’ll wake up any second in his hotel room and none of this will be real, but god he hopes it is. It’s everything he’s ever wanted and that’s exactly what it feels like. It feels like his dreams are coming true and he doesn’t know if he’s going to cry or scream with how much it’s bursting out of every atom of his being. 

He does cry, eventually. After celebrating with the boys for a bit his brothers are suddenly attacking him with hugs and that’s all it takes for him to break because he knows it means as much to his family as it does to him and that really does mean  _everything._ The fact that he can give them this happiness, that he can put that trophy in their hands, means the world to him and he’ll remember the smile on his parent’s face for the rest of his life. 

They spend days celebrating. He doesn’t sleep more than three hours but he can’t even complain because the parade is the best thing he’s ever been a part of, including the final. There’s a sea of red surrounding them and he’s pretty sure Mo and Sadio are the only sober ones and there’s been an overwhelming amount of happiness in his life these past few days that he’s going to carry with him forever. 

- 

St George’s Park always has a weird effect on Trent. In some ways, it makes him miss Liverpool and Melwood so intensely it makes him ache with homesickness. In other ways, it’s a breath of fresh air from the pressures of club football and he craves it. Right now, its a mixture of both. The boys are supportive and thrilled for them, in a muted way that’s hushed so as not to offend the Spurs boys and Trent understands completely but his teammates share their welcomes back to their national teams on the group chat and he can’t help but feel slightly cheated. He feels selfish for it, so he definitely doesn’t share those feelings with anyone else. 

He spots Marcus ten minutes into his arrival though and the ache for the safety and  _home_  and Melwood hits him like a train. He’s not even talking to him, he’s passing him in the corridor and he knows the social guys are still following them on the camera so he lifts a hand to shake Marcus’. Their hands meet briefly and Trent keeps his eyes over Marcus’ shoulder as they do, on Jesse, who’s giving him a an awkward smile and shakes his hand briefly and without feeling. 

 Marcus hasn’t contacted him and he’s surprisingly okay with it. They both knew they’d be seeing each other so there was no point. Things got mixed up in texts and drunken phone calls and they both knew it would be better to just wait and talk in person. 

Trent does actually expect Marcus to come to his room his first night there, but he doesn’t. He also doesn’t approach him the next morning at breakfast, or during training, or at lunch or dinner, or at all over the next two days. Trent’s getting increasingly annoyed, but he knows he’s more stubborn than Marcus and he’s not going to lose this. 

He’s right, of course. Marcus turns up at his door three days in, at 3.25am with a sharp knock and his grey tracksuit on. “You really would have just ignored me the whole time huh?” He asks, voice tired and barely above a whisper, but there’s a layer of amusement there too. 

Trent stares at him silently until Marcus lets out a reluctant laugh. Trent’s chest loosens with the sound and he steps aside to let him inside. 

“Didn’t actually say congratulations to you did I?” Marcus asks, shoving his hands in his pockets as he leans against the wall and he’s trying so hard to look casual it’s almost painful. 

Trent shrugs, “No. Didn’t really expect you to.”

Marcus licks his lips, rolls his shoulders. “I am happy for you. And proud of you.” His voice is soft and sincere and Trent’s chest loosens a little more. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Marcus assures him immediately with a sharp nod. “The parade looked sick. Have you even had any sleep?” 

Trent huffs a laugh, “Nah. Not more than three hours. It’s mad, but I don’t even feel tired. Think I’ll probably sleep a few days once this is all done though.”

Marcus is staring at him with a soft smile and Trent feels himself getting closer and closer to falling, to letting himself push away the memories of the past few weeks to just  _fall_  into Marcus again. “Tell me about it,” he prompts softly. 

Trent stays silent for a three seconds before he launches into it. “Marcus it was amazing. Literally the best two days of my life. I can’t even describe the happiness it was incredible, i’ve never felt anything like it in my life and the parade -” he shakes his head in disbelief. He was there, he’s seen pictures too ad it’s still hard to believe. “It was mad. Incredible. So many people were there and everyone was so fucking happy and I just-” he smiling so much it hurts and he doesn’t realise he’s crossed the room until Marcus lifts a hand to brush a thumb over his cheek and Trent’s knees almost go weak. They’re stood toe to toe and Marcus’ free hand is gripping the pocket of his hoodie tightly and Trent wants nothing more than to lean in and kiss him. But. 

Hi smile drops slowly and he clears his throat. “We should talk, probably.”

“Do we have to? Can’t we just - “

“No. Cause I don’t want to have this argument again in a week.” 

Marcus sighs and drops his hands back to his side and Trent takes a step even closer. He doesn’t want Marcus to withdraw from him, doesn’t want him to leave him and for that awful empty feeling to come back. “Don’t-”

“I’m sorry.” Marcus says, interrupting him and Trent has to admit he’s pretty surprised. He’d been expecting a bit more of a fight on Marcus’ part. “I…I shouldn’t have said…that. It was out of order and it wasn’t true. At the time I thought it was, but I’ve spoken to Jess about it a lot and I think I was just scared and wanted an excuse.” 

“You sounded like you meant it. Like you’d been wanting to say it for a while.” 

Marcus nods, “I had,” he agrees and Trent tries not to let that hurt him. “But it’s not right. I was lying to meself too I think. I’ve just been so scared about everyone finding out and about what’s gonna happen but…” he meets Trent’s eyes with a sharp determination. “You are worth that risk. If-if you still want me.”

Trent doesn’t know how to respond, because this hadn’t been what he’d been expecting. He’d geared himself up for a fight, ready to defend himself and ask who the fuck Marcus thought he was that  _he_  was worth Trent losing everything and he’d pre-planned no less than 34 insults to throw Marcus’ way but this always happened. Marcus always threw him off, always made him forget the bad stuff with something as simple as a smile and it was the best and the worst thing. 

“Okay,” he says instead, taking a step back. 

Marcus frowns slightly, “Okay?”

“Okay. I heard you. I’m gonna think about it.”

“You’re going to think?” Marcus repeats in disbelief, pushing himself away from the wall.

“Yeah. What you think you can say sorry and I’m just gonna move on? Again?” 

Marcus lets out a sharp breath, “You said you were over that. If you’re over it you can’t keep bringing it up.”

This is the first time he’s bringing up the kiss, but Trent doesn’t say that, just stays silent and nods. “Yeah, well. I’ll let you know when I’ve decided.” It’s a dismissal and Marcus knows that.

Trent keeps his composure until Marcus leaves his room, and then promptly lets out a relieved breath as he rushes to grab his phone to tell Joe he’s coming to his room for some much needed advice. 

He takes his time with it. He’s suffered a lot the past few weeks, he knows Marcus has too, but he’s still going to make him wait. He starts hanging out with Jesse again,  but leaves whenever Marcus joins, he starts spending a bit more time with the boys and he feels guilty for the way Joe and Hendo look relieved, for the messages he receives from the boys checking up on him. Ben calls him one night to ask if he needs him to talk to him until he falls asleep, apologises for not having called before and Trent realises with a disbelieving laugh that Ben had been talking shit in Marbella to distract him, not annoy him. He’s hit with both a rush off affection for his team and a rush of annoyance for himself - and Marcus - for having worried them so much. 

It’s better. He feels lighter and even though they lose against Holland, he sees Virgil and Gini for a bit and that makes him feel even better and it’s almost like last year with all the boys at SGP playing stupid games at early hours of the morning and coming up with dumb competitions to get through training. When they win against Switzerland, Trent can’t help but feel proud of himself. Everyone keeps sending him statistics and tweets and videos from the game and he can’t help but take a little pride and amusement in the calls for him to be first choice right-back. 

He’s on the coach to their hotel reading the tweets about the game and he feels better than he did before the Champions League and more importantly he feels like he’s made a decision. As happy as he is about the game there’s one person he’s been dying to discuss it with all day, as smug as he was about beating Kyle in pool yesterday, there was one person he wanted to tell the most and as much as Trent wishes he didn’t, he loves Marcus. 

He waits until midnight before going to Marcus’ room and knocking on the door softly. He’s not surprised to find Jesse and Jadon in there with him and Jesse quickly ushers them out under the ruse of showing Jadon something in his room. Marcus and Trent promise to follow them shortly. 

Marcus is shifting nervously and tapping his fingers on his bouncing knee and Trent has to roll his eyes at it. “Don’t be a prick.”

Trent snorts in amusement, “You don’t have to be so nervous.” 

Marcus stops moving completely for a second before he smiles, tiny and hopeful and so sweet. “No?”

“No.”

Marcus stands up immediately pulls Trent into a hug so tight it chokes him for a second and Trent has to laugh. Marcus was never someone who was good at hiding his feelings, they pour of out him with every expression and word and he’s grateful for that at times like this. Trent lets himself fall into the hug, closing his eyes and hugging him back with everything he can. 

“I love you,” Marcus whispers and Trent buries his face in Marcus’ neck before whispering it back. 

When Marcus pulls back his eyes are a little red and Trent’s heart squeezes again. “By the way you were sick today. Way better than Walks. Better than all of us. You probably already know that. But. Yeah.” 

Trent laughs,  _he loves his idiot so much_ , and nods. “I know. But thanks. Always nice to hear,” he jokes.

Marcus grins, “I’ll tell you again in front of Walks just to piss him off if you want?” 

“I would appreciate that, yeah.” 

It’s easy. It’s so easy with Marcus, to fall back into their old habits and just _be_ together. They spend hours catching up. Trent tells him about the final and Marbella and how he’d driven past Marcus’ dad one day and got a ticket from driving so fast to get away from him. Marcus tells him about Ole’s plans for the club and how unsure he is and how he and Jesse went out one night and both lost their phones and wallets and spent the next morning blaming each other while cancelling their cards. 

They spend the early hours of the morning in bed and Trent has a new scar from the final on his hip that Marcus points out and Marcus has been going to the gym and Trent has to laugh at how hard he tries to show that off and it’s all just so easy. Turns out make-up sex is way better than we just beat Barcelona 4-0 sex and it’s easily on the best nights Trent’s had that year. 

The next day when they all return to SGP, Trent says goodbye to everyone and leaves Marcus for last and Marcus walks over to him with a big, undecipherable smile on his face. Trent’s about to ask if he’s so happy because he didn’t think he’d come third in anything this year, when Marcus grabs his face with both hands in the middle of St. George’s car park in front of the boys and the manager and the coaches and kisses him and it’s so  _easy._  

**Author's Note:**

> lionsandreds.tumblr.com


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